a hundred lifetimes
by closingdoors
Summary: These are their stories, the ones left untold and the ones we'll never see, the ones that were whispers and ones captured in the black ink of magazines, because their love could never be restricted to just one life. A Christmas present for Audrey, who I adore. Inspired by the artwork '25 lives'. COMPLETE.


**a hundred lifetimes**

For Audrey.

* * *

_The very first time I remember you, you are blonde, and you don't love me back._

* * *

Her hair tumbles over her shoulders when she turns, the sun kissed ends golden in the coffee shop light.

"Oh, sorry." She apologizes, blushing slightly when she walks into him, knocking coffee cups against his chest.

He smiles, wide and broad and charming. Already falling for the soft light in her green eyes, the pink hue of embarrassment painted across her cheeks, the shy smile that she sends him beneath a wave of blonde hair.

"That's fine." He tells her, hands itching by his sides to rise, cup her elbows, press a kiss against the smooth crease of her eyelids.

Her green eyes turn inquisitive, something sparkling inside them, as though she knows. As though she remembers. And that hope – that beautiful, familiar hope – rises inside of his chest and seeps through his ribs, painting across his skin in a plethora of colours. Because her eyebrows knit tight as she roams his face like she's seen it before – but something is wrong. Something is off.

And then that look flickers away at the sound of a nearby machine letting out steam, and with another shy smile his way and a murmured apology, she moves past and he watches helplessly on, as she greets a man with a chiseled jaw a little closer to her height with a kiss.

She doesn't look back.

* * *

_The next time you are brunette, and you do._

* * *

"Castle."

He looks up and finds her leaning against the doorjamb of their room, casting a silhouette from the light of his study, hugging her changing frame. She's watching him tenderly, that same light in her eyes that's always present when she looks at him in moments like this, brown curls jostling across her shoulders as she rests her arms atop her enlarged stomach.

Castle sighs, dragging a hand across his weary face, and she gravitates towards him, settling against him on the bed. He leans into her, face lost in her curls and her touch ghosts against him, lingering as it always does. Soft brushes against his spine, pressing against the tension in his neck, making him hum.

"I am happy, Kate. I'm really, really happy," he tells her, muffled by her hair. "I'm just… I wish she was here."

"I know you do, Castle. I know." Kate says, and the raw honesty, the understanding, in her heart just breaks him all over again. Her hand strokes through his hair, cradles his skull. "I wish my own mom were here."

His breath hitches, pulling away to look at her, the sadness mixed in with the gold flecks that burn in her eyes. "Kate –"

She tugs on his hand, places it atop the swell of her stomach, smiling sadly.

"When I married you, I thought about how happy she would've been, how smug, too. Even picking out dresses hurt, because I wanted her to be there when I found the right one, wanted her to be there minutes before I went out to marry you so she could calm my nerves. And when I found out I was pregnant, I wanted her to be here so I could have someone to ask about these damn cravings, this stupid morning sickness, and the incessant kicking. I want her to be here now, to see how much you love me, and how much I love you, and how happy we are."

Her speech has his heart kicking in his chest, trying to squeeze between the gaps in his ribcage.

She smudges a thumb against the dark circles beneath his eyes, cupping his jaw. "So I know. I understand. We're happy. But you want your mom to be here, just as much as I want mine."

He falls into her, kissing her soundly as she keeps her balance with her hands curling around his ears.

"Do you want to… If it's a girl..." She falters, watching him carefully.

He feels his heart swell with his love for this woman, the love that had rose unbidden into his heart so many years ago and had felt hopeless once. But now, when she looks at him how she's looking at him right now, he's glad they're both here. They both stayed and fought and now they're here and she's his wife and damn, they're having a kid.

"No. No, that's too much to put on our kid. It's about moving forward, not back, right?"

Kate smiles, eyes a little wet, voice a little hoarse. "Right."

By some unspoken agreement, they dress for bed, submerging themselves to the darkness of the city night. She lies flat on her back, staring up at the ceiling and thinking until he slides in with her after brushing his teeth. He pulls her top up over her stomach, watching her watching him as he places his ear against the curve of her skin.

She reaches out, presses her palm against his cheek. He turns briefly to kiss the pads of her fingers, feels the cold brush of the metal from her ring against his lips before he settles back down to listen. And her fingers tangle in his hair, and she keeps watching him, and she doesn't need to say it, but she says it anyway.

"I love you."

In this darkness, he sees the flecks of gold in her eyes, the muted sadness that will always linger there but it is permanently overrun by her happiness.

"Yeah. Yeah, I love you too."

* * *

_After a while I give up trying to guess if the colour of your hair means anything, because even when you don't exist, I'm always in love with you._

* * *

There are many shades in life, and he loves her within the red and brown of fall, the white and grey of winter, the green and yellow of spring, the bright orange of summer. In all of these realities her eyes are green, sometimes bright, sometimes muted, sometimes crinkling at the edges as she smiles or staring at the cracks on the sidewalk as she moves on.

No matter how many Katherine Houghton Becketts he encounters, he loves her, loves this world, and loves this universe.

The ones in which he is alone are the worst.

"Temptin', ain't it?"

He glances away from the road and to his left, finding a woman he recognizes from Black Pawn's offices walking towards him, leaning against the wall on the rooftop. She cradles a cigarette in one hand, studies the world as it moves by below them. She must've been beautiful once, Castle thinks, noting her high cheekbones, her large doe eyes. Green. Not the right shade, though. But… of course not.

"Yeah," he replies, looking back down at the world as it all moves on, a pang in his gut when he remembers that she's not a part of it. "Yeah, I guess so."

The woman takes a drag of her cigarette, watching him from the corner of her eye.

"Ain't you a millionaire?"

"I am," he replies.

"So money ain't your problem."

It could be. He has all of this money, so much he'll never spend, but all of this money could never bring her to him. What's the point of it all if he is without her?

"No."

"Woman problems?"

Castle rests his elbows against the rooftop wall, smiling sadly, because how could it all be labelled as simply as woman problems? And then he's thinking about all the rooftops he's stood on with Kate, different moments, snapshots, realities: a blonde Kate smiling as they scatter confetti from the roof, a brunette Kate yelling _I'm pregnant _when she finds him standing in the bitter rain, a red-haired Kate pulling him closer and closer and whispering _I love you._

It's all too much and not enough.

"Yeah," he finally answers. "Something like that."

"She leave you?"

Whoever this woman is, she's blunt. He thinks it must have something to do with the lines of experience that mar her expression, the ghosts haunting and sharpening the lines of her face to replace what once was softness with bitterness. He wonders if this is what Kate's like, in the versions of reality in which he does not exist – if she even remembers that he doesn't, if she's as alone in the world as he is.

But – No. Of course not. Alone, maybe, but not so haunted. Not so frayed around the edges.

"Left the world," he admits sadly, fingers tracing over the cover of the book he holds in his hands. "Doesn't feel right being here without her."

"Ah," the woman says. "Sorry to hear about that."

She takes a final drag of her cigarette, and on her last puff of smoke she says, "Plenty more fish in the sea, right?"

He laughs, a little bitter. She has no idea how right she is. Until the day it all stops completely.

"Yeah, I suppose."

The woman smiles, teeth yellow and stained and lips a little too taut and forced, but then she stubs out her cigarette and lets it fall down to the ground from twenty stories up. It reminds him of Kate, of her brilliant hair tossing around her face in the wind as she'd thrown the confetti he'd collected sentimentally from the wedding, smile white and bright as she'd laughed and whispered _happy anniversary _against his lips.

Oh, it aches.

He heard once that you can never love someone as much as you can miss them. But aren't loving and missing another person the same thing?

He doesn't know. Maybe he never will. Regardless, he tucks Naked Heat into his coat, and when the wind picks up he's almost certain he can smell cherries.

* * *

_I remember most fondly those lifetimes when we get to grow up together, when you share your secrets and sorrows and hiding places with me._

* * *

He's a spy – like James Bond – rolling through the grassy field and into the shrubbery of the park. He's going to catch the bad guy, even if all he has is a rubber band, some twigs, a half-eaten candy bar and a rock. But his plan will work. He's a super spy, of course it will work.

"Ricky?"

But then he's staring up at five-year-old Kate Beckett, long hair tied back in a ponytail and dirt smeared across her cheekbones, staring at him curiously. His face floods with heat, the poor nine-year-old caught out, a little mad too. She always interrupts.

"Shh," he hisses from his spot in the shrubbery. "I'm on a mission."

Kate grins, falling down onto her knees to crawl into the shrubbery with him. Her mom will complain about the state of her new dress later, but for now playing spies with Rick Rodgers is worth it.

"I on a mission too!"

"No you're not, it's my mission."

"Are too. I a spy."

"Girls aren't _spies."_

Kate's face twists into one of anger, smacks a five year old fist against his skull. Rick whimpers, clutching his head when the pain briefly zaps through his bones before it dulls away, simply an ache in the back of his mind. Kate stares at him with brows furrowed, lips pouting.

"Girls spies are better than boy spies."

"No they're not."

Kate rolls her eyes, resting her chin against her muddy palm. "Yeah, they are. Boy spies just stare at pretty girls. Girl spies win!"

"James Bond doesn't get _distracted _– "

"Yeah he does," Kate interrupts. "All the time. Mommy laughs with Daddy about it."

"Your Mom's wrong," Rick argues, offended as she insults his hero. "To be a spy, you gotta be strong, and smart, and stealthy – "

"Richard Alexander Rodgers!"

Uh oh. Busted.

His mom stares down at him with arms crossed over her torso as he crawls back out from his not so subtle hiding place in the bushes. She grabs his arm when he stands up, tutting when she wipes the dirt from his face, studies how much has clumped together in his hair. He winces when she tugs a hand through it, sighing heavily.

"Really, Richard," she sighs. "Why can't you just play in the playground with the other children?"

"I was playing with – " he begins to say, but when he turns back to the bushes, he can't see Kate anywhere. Huh.

Martha sighs, releasing him. "Clothes aren't cheap, Richard. Don't ruin what we've got," she says, and he can see the stress in her eyes, that same stress in her eyes when the bills fall through the mailbox, so he doesn't argue and nods instead.

When she turns her back and walks away, he hears a rustling behind him, and turns to see a very muddy Kate Beckett crawling out of the bushes with a huge grin on her face.

"How did you _do _that?" he asks in amazement.

Her grin turns smug, pointing back at the bushes. "I show you, Ricky."

Rick prepares himself to crawl back under the bushes, but she stops him with a muddy hand against his cheek. He squirms away, frowning.

"What is it?"

"Say girls are better spies than boys."

Rick frowns down at her, but her green eyes are so fierce, even so young. Her chin raised, her nostrils flared, daring him to tell her any different. He sighs in defeat, watching the glint in her eyes flash as she grins.

"Fine. Girl spies are better than boys. Happy now?"

She laughs loudly, dropping back down to crawl back under the bushes and, as always, he follows her.

* * *

_I love how you play along with my bad ideas, before you grow up and realise they're bad ideas. (And in our times together I have many bad ideas.)_

* * *

"Castle," she hisses, gun clasped in her hands in a death-like grip.

"Shh!" He whispers back, eyes peeking through the cracks of the crate. "We don't want them to come back, they're armed."

Kate rolls her eyes in despair, tired and hungry and pissed off because this case has turned out to be far more complex than she had originally thought it would be, and it's resulted in them being trapped in a six by six crate when all they'd arrived to this address in the first place for was to question a witness.

"Castle, if they don't come back, how on Earth do you expect to get out?"

Castle pauses, back turned to her. "Oh. Right," he says, shifting so he can squint at her through the cracked darkness. "Beckett, I have an idea."

"If you suggest yelling that I've turned into a cannibal one more time Castle, I swear to God, I will actually go Hannibal on your ass."

"That's not – Heh – Uh –" Castle stammers, eyes wide. "You'd actually turn to cannibalism? Well, I guess I would be pretty tasty, I eat well and have a lot more meat on me than – "

"Castle," she interrupts. "Your plan?"

"Oh. Right. Yeah," he says, thinking for a moment before he speaks. "So we want to catch them unaware, right?"

"We're in a crate that they put us in. I don't think that catching them unaware is a plausible idea right now."

"It is!" He shouts, and at her look he winces. "Oh, sorry."

"You wanna tell them the plan too, while you're at it?"

"I _said _I was sorry," he pouts. "Anyway, my plan. It's genius, and totally plausible. We've been stuck in here for, like, days – "

"It can't have been more than four hours – "

"And we all know what hunger does to people – and before you say it, _no_, this one is not cannibalism – but we all know what _I _do to you, Beckett."

Kate's breath catches in her throat, cheeks flushing and she's never been more grateful for the darkness of the crate. Because they don't talk about this, not so explicitly, never so seriously. In jest, yes, but never – not with that look in his eyes. Why would he even think about bringing that up right now? Unless this is one of those _we're going to die and I refuse to go without knowing what being with you is like _moments she's read and cringed at in books.

"Excuse me?" She finally pushes out, voice strained.

"Annoy you," he answers lightly. "So it's reasonable to expect you to shoot me in a fit of deranged hunger, exhaustion and annoyance, right?"

Kate huffs, panic subsiding. "Castle, you're being ridiculous."

"No no, seriously. Just shoot one of the walls of this crate, make sure it doesn't back bounce at us of course, I'll pretend to be wounded. You'll hide by the door, and when they rush in to find my wonderful play-dead acting, you can take them down with those badass cop moves of yours."

"Castle, you're not seriously – "

"C'mon, Beckett, what other choice do we have?"

She purses her lips, glancing around the crate. It is claustrophobic in here. He _is _getting on her nerves. She's needed to pee for the past hour and she can't remember when she last ate. And, most importantly, she's fresh out of ideas, and he's staring at her like he's just understood quantum physics.

"Fine," she gives in. "But if it doesn't work, you bet I'm gonna kill _you _in the afterlife."

Castle lets out a quiet squeal of delight, leading her to roll her eyes. He rushes over to the door and prepares himself to lay spread on the floor, practicing his 'dead face' by poking his tongue out of his mouth. The ridiculous man-child.

"Rick," she murmurs softly, sees his eyes turn to hers even in this darkness, always finding her. "You know I'd never really shoot you, don't you?"

His lips curl into a lazy grin.

"That has to be the sweetest thing you've ever said to me, Kate."

* * *

_When we meet as adults, you're always much more disconcerting. I don't blame you. Yet, always, you forgive me._

* * *

He's been sat up all night waiting for her, pacing wildly and complaining to his mother until she'd finally retired to bed. He's tried reading, watching TV, writing, but nothing distracts him, nothing resolves this itch inside him and the thoughts of _you royally screwed this one up, Castle._

By the time she returns home, he's worn a hole in the floor, and had been considering just leaving to find her at the precinct.

"Kate," he says softly when she walks into the loft, glancing at him with exhausted eyes.

She moves past him, grabs leftover dinner he'd made sure to spare for her, sighs when he speaks up again.

"Castle, just leave it."

He sits at the kitchen island counter impatiently, watching her like a hawk as she microwaves the leftovers, rubs a hand across her face and rests another on the small of her back. Castle wants to move to her, but he needs to give her a moment. He knows that. He knows he's done wrong.

He just – wants her to _not_ be mad at him again.

Finally, she slides onto the stool beside him, fork chasing her dinner around the plate, the wine in her glass rapidly disappearing.

"I'm sorry."

Kate sighs again, sets her fork down and drums her nails against the island as she speaks.

"Castle, sorry isn't good enough. You can't – You can't just do things like this. Do you understand how much trouble I was just in with Gates?"

"I do, Kate, I understand," he says, reaching out to hold her hand. "Of course I understand."

"It's different now," she murmurs, turning to him. "My life can't be as public as it used to be. I've just made lieutenant, Gates has openly admitted to hoping I replace her when she retires. So I need to do my job, okay? Nothing can get in the way of that. Just think before you act next time, Castle."

He hangs his head like a dejected child, running a hand through his hair. He knows he should've thought about it. He knows.

"I know."

"Hey."

She touches his cheek gently and he lifts his head willingly, meeting her eyes. Exhausted from an hour of being lectured by Gates no doubt, but that same softness she reserves for him, which he's ached to see from the moment she'd snapped at him and told him to go home before he _screwed something else up._

"I shouldn't have been that hard on you," she says gently. "I'm sorry, Castle. I know your heart was in the right place."

He sighs, resting a hand on her thigh, tracing circles into her pants. "And I'm sorry for being an idiot."

Kate huffs, but then she wraps a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer for an apologetic, languid kiss.

After all of this time, she still takes his breath away.

"I love you," she tells him softly when she pulls back, thumb wiping away her smeared lip-gloss on his mouth.

"Even when I'm an idiot?"

She smiles, kisses him again.

"Especially when you're an idiot, Castle."

* * *

_As if you understand what's going on, and you're making up for all the lifetimes in which one of us doesn't exist, and the ones where we just, barely, never meet. I hate those._

* * *

The book signing has been going on for two hours now and he's fairly certain that he's going to lose all ability to feel in his wrist and the fingers of his right hand. His smile is now a numb, permanent fixture to his body which holds no true light, so when Paula leans over his shoulder and says he can take a fifteen minute break he practically sprints to the escape of the bookstore bathroom to rest.

After wasting a lot of time and a lot of water in there, he takes a moment to browse through the bookstore. It's huge – not surprising – with endless amounts of aisles with shelf upon shelf of book. He drifts listlessly through them all, notes which ones he owns and which ones he doesn't, which ones he would like to own.

That's when he sees her.

Kate's hair is a dark chestnut brown, falling around her face in loose curls, light in her eyes as she slips a novel from the shelf and reads the blurb. She's young. Barely twenty at most, he'd say, but beautiful. Always so beautiful.

She must sense his eyes on her because she looks up, large green eyes fixed on him, raising her eyebrows.

"Anyone ever told you that staring's creepy?"

He huffs out a laugh, starts to reply but then Paula is rounding the corner, grabbing him by the collar with her sharp red nails. "Rick! I told you 15 minutes, not 25! You wanna lose your fans?"

A flash of recognition lights in Kate's eyes, and then she's turning, her book a mask as he's dragged away by the collar, protests on his tongue but they're all worthless. So he sits through another two hours of signing books and he can't muster a smile, can barely drag his eyes away from the aisles of books he'd left her in.

Finally, the signing is over and he can _leave, _and pathetically he just has this insane hope that she will still be there, head buried in a book because she'd gotten so lost in the words on the page that would always lead them back to one another. He all but sprints there, slams into several bookcases along the way, envisioning her young sweet face and her petite frame when he finally trips into the space he'd seen her before.

But – of course.

Hope is foolish, and she isn't there.

* * *

_I prefer the ones in which you kill me._

* * *

"Castle!"

The bullet hits him square in the chest.

This time he doesn't have his writer's vest for protection.

The world blurs around him, pain and yelling and a lot of _blood, _and he can feel himself falling backwards at the force of the bullet so he lets his knees crumple beneath him, trembling erratically because it was never supposed to be like this.

He'd always thought he'd take a bullet for her.

Never from her.

She lands solidly on her knees beside him, hands sticky with his blood as she presses them fiercely against the wound, desperation etched into her eyes.

"Oh, God, Castle – I'm so sorry – He grabbed you and I panicked – I'm so – "

"Kate," he gasps, attempting to reach for her, but his limbs won't co-operate with him, nothing is doing what he's trying to tell it to do.

Is this what it was like for her? When their situations were reversed? Pain and panic and the fear of time being cruelly stolen away?

God – He hopes not. He hopes it was never as bad as this.

"Castle," Kate keens, tears gathering in her eyes. "Just hang on, okay? The ambulance is on its way. You're gonna be okay. Stay with me, Castle."

"Right – Here – " He wheezes out. "Don't – Don't – Don't cry – "

Kate blinks rapidly, but the tears are already falling, her skin pale and clammy with a violent green tinge to it. She's choking on the words that she has no right to say, not when she's done this. One foolish mistake on her part, panic threading through her veins and now this.

"Stay with me, Castle. _Please_. Focus on my face, okay? You gotta stay alive and wipe these tears away like you always do," Kate rambles desperately. "God, Castle, I can't – "

Esposito rushes over, replaces her hands once Castle begins to cough up his own blood, and everything is spinning but her hands are on his face and her tears are leaking down her nose and he's centered. Almost. He can feel his vision slipping at the edges, his body is trembling all over but at least she's here. At least he's not alone.

"Kate – " he moans out, "Kate – the kids – "

"Are still gonna have their father at the end of the day," she interrupts, eyes red and bloodshot and wild. "Castle, just focus. Stay with me. Please don't leave me. Please don't, Rick."

Kate leans closer, forehead pressed against his and he can't breathe either way so he simply remembers this, her, here. Remembers how ardently he loves her.

All of those future plans they'd had – more children, a bigger apartment, growing grey together.

Gone now.

"Love you," he coughs out, "always."

"Rick," she sobs, "please don't. Please stay."

He hears her say _I love you so much, I don't want to do this without you, please don't leave – _

And then everything is gone.

* * *

_But when all's said and done, I'd rather surrender to you in other ways._

* * *

"You give in?"

"Like Hell I give in!"

Castle catapults another snowball with all the force he can muster, cursing when Kate laughs and ducks out of its way, hiding behind the snowed-over park bench. They've been at this spontaneous snowball fight for 20 minutes and she's whooping his ass, but there's no way he's going to give her the satisfaction of him _surrendering._

He rushes to hide behind a nearby bush. _Strategy, _he thinks, _I need strategy. _So he quickly makes ten satisfactory snowballs, places them beside him as a cluster and carefully peeks over the top of the bush. He can't see whether she's moved or not so, slowly, he picks up one of the snowballs, waits crouched for the moment her head peeks over the top of the bench and he can _finally _get her.

A few tense minutes pass, and he's almost beginning to grow worried about what's taking her so long, when suddenly snow is racing its way down his spine and he screams, dropping his own snowball and squirming.

Kate roars with laughter beside him as he wriggles on his spot, tripping over so that he lays flat on his back.

"Oh, Castle," she laughs, watching him fondly. "I told you to give in."

Castle pouts. "You told me going for a walk would be fun."

She's beautiful, as the smile slowly stretches across her face, that seductive one that never fails to make his heart skip a beat. The night sky and the stars and the flakes settling in her hair only amplify her beauty, and not for the first time he is awestruck by her, so in love with Katherine Houghton Beckett that he's sure it was the only thing he was ever born to do.

Kate drops down into his lap on the floor, straddling him and murmuring, "Oh, I don't know. I think I've been having fun."

"Oh, have you?"

"Mmm-hmm," she hums, settling her hands on either side of his head, leaning down so that their lips barely brush. "Lots of fun."

He kisses her fiercely, reaching up to comb his hands through her hair while her hands cup his cheek, her wet gloves a fierce contrast to her hot, distracting tongue sliding against his. He groans at the feeling and she rocks her hips against his in response, desperate little sexy noises escaping into the air in the fleeting moments their lips part from one another.

"Castle," she gasps, pulling away from him with flushed cheeks. "Let's go home."

His hands begin to creep inside her jacket and he feels her shiver. "Why? I'm finally having fun here. Early Christmas present, right?"

"Rick, I'm not having sex in the _snow_ with you."

"Why not?"

"It's cold – "

"I'll warm you up."

She rolls her eyes. "This is a park."

"It's almost midnight, I'm pretty sure there's no kids playing here."

"Anyone could walk by and see – "

"Like that's stopped you before."

Kate blushes again, ducking her head and pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the sensitive spot beneath his ear, smiling against his skin as he shivers. Evil woman.

"I promise it'll be worth it," she murmurs seductively into his ear, hands tracing up and down his sides. "No-one else is home. We have the entire place to ourselves."

He groans. "You drive a hard bargain, detective."

She pulls away slowly. "Uh huh."

They grin at one another, and then she rolls from his lap, he helps her stand and they dust each other off. Then she takes his hand, kisses him gently and murmurs, "Merry Christmas, Castle", and he can't quite imagine what else life could be but this.

* * *

_Even though each time, I know I'll see you again, I always wonder: Is this the last time? Is that really you?_

* * *

They're commas curled around one another beneath the sheets.

Her hair is an array of messy curls and the tiny flowers entwined through them, some having fallen out the moment he'd pushed her down onto the bed once they'd finally returned from the reception and he'd found out what she was wearing _under _the wedding dress.

He traces patterns into her back while she sleeps, tracing every naked dip and curve of her skin as he's done a thousand times before.

What happens if there's not another life?

Will all of these ever be enough to show her how much he loves her?

He doesn't know. All he knows that he is lost and lonely and afraid without her. It's not like he can't live without her – he could do so, as she could live without him. He just doesn't want to. Who in their right mind would deny such a love, such a woman?

Kate's breathing grows shallow, and then she opens her ethereal eyes and stares at him with a softness that he can always identify her by, studying him in the quiet darkness of 2am. So attuned to one another.

"You okay?" She murmurs.

He smiles, presses a kiss against her sun-kissed shoulders. "I'm fine. Go to sleep, Mrs Castle."

Kate's grin grows huge then, albeit sleepy.

"Stop starin' at me while I sleep," she mumbles. "S'creepy."

"Okay, Kate," he agrees softly. "Go back to sleep."

She needs no further encouragement and soon enough her breathing levels out, her lashes fluttering while she sleeps peacefully.

And he returns to ghosting his fingertips up and down her spine, tracing every landmark, admiring the fine architecture, loving her if only through touch, until morning dawns again and he can love her with words once more.

* * *

_And what if you're already perfectly happy without me?_

* * *

There's a spark in her eye that he hadn't put there.

Her eyes aren't soft, so at least there's that. He watches her battle with her scarf and a cup of coffee as the wind picks up, stretches her long blonde hair behind her, and she laughs at something the man beside her says. Their arms bump as they walk along, and when they stop outside her building she raises up on her toes to kiss him soundly.

It makes his skin crawl.

But, of course, it isn't her fault. He shouldn't have come looking for her. He knows that he's never met her past the age of 40, but he couldn't resist, just wanted this glimpse of her. She wasn't too hard to find in the phone directory – the daughter of two well-known, wealthy lawyers who'd become the first female chief of justice, had helped her mother bring down countless criminals in law suits and had even taken part of the '_bring back the streets' _campaign which had almost cost Johanna Beckett her life.

Castle watches her from afar and knows as much as he resents the lives in which they are not together, she deserves this life. Her mom's still around, she's in a job she'd always dreamed about – and, yeah, she's not with him… but what man wouldn't love Kate Beckett as wholly as she deserved to be loved?

They'd be happier together, he knows. But she's happy. She doesn't know of Richard Castle and Nikki Heat and everything they've been through, but she's happy.

He turns away when she's in the middle of laughter, remembering the sunlight in her eyes.

Maybe life was meant to be this way.

* * *

_Ah, but I don't blame you; I'll never burn as brilliantly as you. It's only fair that I should be the one to chase you across ten, twenty-five, a hundred lifetimes, until I find the one where you'll return to me._

* * *

The photographs littered across the murder board are explicit, to say the least. Over his time at the 12th, he's seen some pretty gruesome things, but these murders are senseless, vile, something savage to each attack.

And the third victim – caramel hair, green eyes, tall, slim. So much like her.

He wants to – needs to – hold her. Kate. Needs to take a moment to just breathe her in and acknowledge that she's here and that she hasn't been taken away from him yet. But, of course, she'd left the precinct hours ago, as had everyone else, to take a break from this case. She'd tried to hide it from him, but Castle knew that she was spending the night at her new boyfriend's house; someone from the narcotics unit, he thinks he may have heard her tell Lanie.

Who is he to stop her? The guy made her smile, laugh. They'd only known each other for a year, in this version of life; she still hated his guts sometimes. But maybe – someday. Sometime.

"Hey."

The voice beside him makes him yelp like a little girl, falling from where he had been perched on Beckett's desk. He hears her twinkling laughter and turns, mock mortification written across his features.

"You know, if I didn't know any better, Beckett, I'd say you're a murderer. You almost gave me a heart attack," he whines dramatically.

She rolls her eyes at his antics. "You're _such _a drama queen."

There's something off in her voice and he drops the act of the fool immediately, studying her for a moment. She blushes under his gaze and looks away, back to the murder board and their puzzle pieces that they're yet to fit together.

"You're here late," Kate comments.

He doesn't catch onto the bait. "You've been crying. And arguing."

She steps forwards so that her back is to him, fingers tracing over the murder board distractedly. "No I haven't."

"Yeah, you have. Your eyes are red and you've still got that angry vein on your forehead. I know your tells, Beckett."

Beckett's hand stills, oddly quiet, spine stiff. Uh-oh. Yeah, he shouldn't have said anything. Should've left it. This Beckett doesn't open up to him yet. Of course not. He's just jumping ahead.

"Sorry," he says. "I don't mean to push."

There's a tense moment in which he's planning the next flight to the other side of the country so that she can't seriously maim him, but then her shoulders are dropping subtly, tension seeping away and she's turning to him with questions in her eyes that he'll spend a thousand lifetimes answering, if that's what she wanted.

"How do you always do that?" She asks in a whisper, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Know me so well, I mean. Better than – Better than I know myself, I think."

It feels like everything.

"I'm a writer," he half-lies. "It's my job to notice things."

"But it's more than that," she argues, stepping closer. "It's more."

Of course it's more. It always has been. The words are on the tip of his tongue, and she's looking at him with such anticipation and such hope that he would be a fool to stop now, but of course, he hesitates, because it's too soon. It must be too soon. She has a boyfriend. She doesn't want him.

"Castle," she encourages gently, fingers reaching out to grasp the lapel of his jacket. "Tell me."

"I love you," he whispers, because he knows nothing else.

A brief moment of clarity burns in her eyes, there's that tug of her eyebrows appearing, the way she always does when she's trying not to cry. Her lips twitch into the most hesitant of smiles and then she's dipping her head, hiding behind her hair.

"I don't deserve that."

"Hey," he says, cautiously tipping her chin up to meet his eyes. "Don't say that."

Her teeth dig into her lower lip nervously, eyes scanning his with trepidation. "You terrify me."

"I'm sorry," he says, stepping away. "I should – "

"No," she says, stepping closer. "You shouldn't."

He holds his breath because he is so _confused _because she is a mess of contradictions and beauty wrapped tightly in the tumble of curls and bright smiles. And he loves her, he does, he always does, always will, and sometimes she doesn't and that's okay because she never remembers, but now it feels like too soon because normally he has to wait, has to chase her, but here and now she's stepping closer and closer and raising on her toes and he can't _think a_nd then he doesn't have to because she closes her eyes and presses her lips so gently to his that it's nothing more than the most beautiful caress of lips he's ever known and oh God _she's _kissing _him_.

"Beckett," he breathes. "You have a boyfriend."

"We broke up," she confesses against his lips. "Earlier. I couldn't – Couldn't do it anymore."

His hands settle on her waist, rubs comforting circles against the fabric of her shirt. "Why?"

Kate's smile is watery, her eyes vaguely unfocused yet crystal clear when she speaks.

"He's not you," she whispers. "He never was."

He sighs, brushing his lips tentatively against hers once more. Nothing to say.

"What does this mean?" He asks quietly.

"I don't know, but I like where it's going," she murmurs, stepping away. "C'mon, Castle. You've been here too long, and you're not gonna crack this case by wearing yourself out. Go home, get some rest."

"Why did _you_ come back here?"

Kate's hands brush his, cautious and new and exploring, searching through the ridge of his knuckles and the scratch of his palm and brushing against the reassuring beat of his pulse in his wrists. She smiles softly at him, whispers like they're confessing secrets to each other.

"Because you're always here."

She says it so simply and then, without leaving him time to recover, presses another gentle kiss against his lips before she moves away. Kate gathers her coat and tugs on his elbow lightly, but he doesn't move, even as she begins heading towards the elevator. He just watches her from the bullpen, dazed by her. A dazzling array of colours exploding simultaneously inside of him, setting everything alight in the most gorgeous of ways.

Kate pauses when she realises than he's not following. Turns.

"You comin', Castle?"

He jolts out of his daze at her words, collecting his things hurriedly before he jogs to reach her side, following her as he always will.

And this time, she reaches back and takes his hand.

Together.

* * *

_Audrey, you are the light to my dark. My possibility of hope on my worst day. I love you, boo, there are no words for how grateful I am that you are my friend. Joyeux Noël, have the best day, and a Happy New Year. See you on the other side, sweetie._


End file.
